‘You know I’m working on Moonflower Murders,’ I told her. I sat down in the other empty chair. ‘Did you see my play?’ I asked.
‘As a matter of fact, I had tickets to the Saturday matinée. I was going to take the whole office, but when we got to the theatre they said it had closed that very day.’ She sniffed. ‘At least we got our money back.’
‘What is this about?’ I asked, a little tetchily.
‘How are you doing, mate?’ Hawthorne looked across at me. He was unusually cheerful too. ‘I was just telling Hilda about the murder of Harriet Throsby.’
‘Yes. You know, for once I actually got it right!’ I hadn’t meant to blurt it out like that, but it was true. When I’d left his dressing room, I’d named Tirian Kirke as the killer.
‘You didn’t exactly,’ Hawthorne returned. ‘You only thought it was him because he’d refused to do your drama on TV.’
‘Well, I didn’t trust him. I was right about that.’ While I’d been in France, I’d had time to think about what had happened and now I couldn’t stop myself asking, ‘Why did they all gang up on me, Hawthorne? I mean, Jordan said I agreed with him when he was making his threat to kill Harriet. Ewan said the same. Olivia told you I threatened her mother. And Sky Palmer said I’d seen Harriet’s address in the magazine. None of that was true!’
‘Basic psychology, mate. All four of them felt under pressure. Olivia probably blamed herself for nicking her mum’s review and sending it to her girlfriend. Sky felt guilty about reading it out. Ewan was defending Jordan, and Jordan … well, he’d started the whole thing. It was the same for all of them. Deflection! They accused you to stop me accusing them.’
‘There’s something else.’ This had also been on my mind. ‘On the first night of the play, Martin Longhurst was sitting right behind me and I was sure I felt something prick at the back of my neck. All along, I thought he was the one who might have pulled out one of my hairs.’
‘Why didn’t you mention it?’
‘I don’t know. I couldn’t be sure …’
‘Well, he had nothing to do with it. It was probably first-night nerves.’
‘Or you could have nits,’ Hilda suggested.
‘I don’t have nits,’ I growled.
Hawthorne smiled. ‘Anyway, Tony, it’s all over. And I’ve got to tell you, if it wasn’t for me, you know where you’d be right now.’
‘That’s true.’ I couldn’t deny it. ‘You worked it all out, Hawthorne. You stood by me. I owe you a big vote of thanks.’
He coughed quietly. ‘Actually, you owe me a bit more than that.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Well, you hired me. This time, I wasn’t helping the police. You were the client. I put four days into this and Kevin helped too.’ He held up a hand before I could protest. ‘Don’t worry. I’ll do it for mate’s rates. I can give you a ten per cent discount—’
‘Hawthorne! I don’t believe you’re saying this. It’s outrageous.’
‘I don’t see why. If it wasn’t for me, you wouldn’t have a career any more. I was just talking about that with Hilda.’
‘I don’t think it would have been a good look, being arrested for murdering a critic,’ Hilda agreed.
I stared at Hawthorne. ‘So that’s all there is between us? You just think of me as a client?’
‘You were the one who said you didn’t want to write any more books.’
He let this sink in. Suddenly, I knew where this was heading.
‘I’ve spoken to Penguin Random House,’ Hilda chipped in. ‘They were very saddened by your decision. The Word is Murder has done much better than any of your other books, and you know how keen they are on series. Hawthorne asked me to call them on his behalf – I didn’t want to trouble you while you were away – and I have to say, they’ve made an extremely generous offer.’
‘An offer?’
‘Four more books once you finish A Line to Kill.’ She opened a drawer in her desk and took out a contract. ‘Of course, it’s entirely your decision. I wouldn’t want you to do anything you weren’t comfortable with.’
She handed me the document. I read:
Memorandum of Agreement dated 20 April 2018
between Anthony Horowitz (‘Author’), c/o Hilda Starke Limited (‘Agent’) of the one part; and
Penguin Random House (‘Publisher’) of the other part, concerning 4 (four) original works of fiction of 90,000 words each at present entitled:
Hawthorne Investigates (‘Book 4’)
Untitled Hawthorne Book 5 (‘Book 5’)
Untitled Hawthorne Book 6 (‘Book 6’)
Untitled Hawthorne Book 7 (‘Book 7’)
(hereinafter referred to as the ‘Work’, together or individually as the context provides)
Whereby it is mutually agreed as follows:
That was as far as I got. There were half a dozen more pages of legalese. Is there an author in the world who goes through all this stuff and understands it? But that wasn’t the point. I’d already read enough.
‘I am never calling any of my books Hawthorne Investigates!’ I said.
‘It was only a suggestion.’ Hawthorne shrugged. ‘It’ll be easy to write,’ he went on. ‘Not too many suspects. Everyone likes the theatre. And why do you think I gathered everyone on the stage like that? I did that for you, mate. It’s a terrific end – just like Agatha Christie!’
‘You did that for the book?’
‘Just trying to help.’
I stared at the pages. ‘Are you seriously telling me that if I don’t sign this contract, you’re going to charge me hundreds of pounds for solving the crime?’
‘I would never do that!’ Hawthorne placed his hand on his heart. ‘I have too much respect for you, Tony. Anyway, it’s thousands of pounds.’
I turned to Hilda. ‘I thought you were on my side.’
‘I’m representing your best interests,’ Hilda assured me.
‘You were against me writing this series!’
‘Not at all. I was annoyed that you sprang it on me without any discussion, but I can already see that it could be a game changer for you. You being in the books is really unusual. You’ve had a great response to The Word is Murder. Four and a half stars from Goodreads and a terrific review in the Mail on Sunday.’
‘Thank God for critics,’ Hawthorne said.
‘If you want to think about it, that’s fine. But this is a fantastic deal – even splitting the royalties sixty-forty.’
‘Fifty-fifty!’
‘We can negotiate.’
I looked down at the sheets of paper in my lap. I knew I’d been backed into a corner, but, quite honestly, there was a part of me that wanted to be there. It was true that Hawthorne had saved my career. More than that, with every case, I was getting closer to him, finding more of his secrets. Now, as well as Reeth, I had a shadowy organisation, a man called Morton, adoptive parents, Roland Hawthorne. My whole life is spent looking for stories. Was I prepared to give up this one?
I took out a pen and sighed.
‘All right,’ I said. ‘Where do I sign?’
Acknowledgements
This was an uncomfortable book for me to write and I want to start by thanking my therapist, Dr Lisa Beach, for helping me work through my experiences. I also sought advice from Graham Bartlett, a former detective and author, who explained much of what happened at Tolpuddle Road and gave me useful information about MAPP and the Prison and Probation Service.
I am grateful to Graham Thompson, the theatre manager at the Vaudeville, who showed me round the theatre quite some time after Mindgame had closed, so that I could refresh my memory. I think it’s only fair to mention that the backstage area has been redecorated and modernised since the events described in this book. I also owe an apology, I think, to the director Christopher Nolan. I could not disagree more with Tirian’s view of Tenet and note that he had clearly not seen the finished script as, ultimately, no scenes were shot in Paris.